


held on as tightly as you held onto me

by brookethenerd



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 03:44:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10800999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookethenerd/pseuds/brookethenerd
Summary: neil has a nightmare, andrew comforts him (at least, as much as andrew can comfort anyone)





	held on as tightly as you held onto me

Sometimes Neil dreams of the past. Sometimes the dreams are so vivid he can smell his mother’s corpse as it burns, so vivid he can hear wit absolute clarity the clang of his father’s ax, so vivid he can see the metal glint off Lola’s knife as she carves his arms to ribbons.

Sometimes he can feel Riko’s knife as it slips beneath his skin, as he hits him until blood fills his mouth, as he makes him run plays until Neil is past the point of pain. It’s like he’s paralyzed, unable to move, unable to fight back.

He doesn’t realize he’s dreaming until his eyes are snapping open, his gaze landing on a hardened face with messy blonde hair, steady hands on his shoulders.

He’s pretty sure someone is screaming, and it takes a moment for him to understand that it’s him, but then Riko’s knife is back, his matches are back, his fists are back, and Neil is powerless beneath him, just as he was the first time, and he can’t stop. He can’t stop his own voice, just as he couldn’t stop Riko’s torture. It lasted so long, god, it lasted so long. Days and days and days and weeks, time running on and slowing down and stretching out.

Then strong arms are wrapping around him, and he’s being pulled against someone’s chest; he knows from the feel of them it isn’t violent, that it’s meant for comfort.

Still, he thrashes in Andrew’s arms, trying to escape, to get away, to run like he used to. He wants to run until he can’t hear Riko’s voice. He wants to outrun his demons; he’s so tired of their vice-like grip on his body.

But Andrew doesn’t let him go; he holds on until Neil stops the screaming, until he goes limp, until Neil is gasping for air like a fish out of water.

He holds him after that, too. At any other time, Neil would think about how hard it must be to do this; how hard it must be for Andrew to hold him.

At any other time, Neil would pull away immediately, sparing Andrew’s feelings, what few of them he has.

But tonight, his body isn’t his own, and all he can go is suck in breath after breath, head tipped back against Andrew’s chest.

They stay that way for a long time, until Neil’s breathing has settled, and he sits up, pushing out of Andrew’s arms, raking a hand through his hair. His face is damp with sweat, and he drags the sheets up to his head, wiping his forehead. He shoves his sleeves up, gaze sliding down his arms, at the ugly scars that decorate him like he’s a storefront window, showing off what’s inside.

What’s inside being the makings of a horror movie.

Andrew wraps his hands around Neil’s wrists, pulling his attention up to his face.

“You need to breathe, or you’re going to pass out. I’m not calling Abby at 3 am.” Andrew says, in a way that makes it sound like he couldn’t care less whether or not Neil actually does it; in the way that Neil knows means that he’s worried, to as high of a degree as he can.

Neil focuses on his breath, the rising and falling of his chest, and waits until Andrew drops his hands before speaking again.

“You don’t have to do that.” Neil says.

“Do what?” Andrew asks, lips turned down in slight annoyance.

“You can just smack me awake, or something. You don’t have to-“

“Cradle you like a baby?” Andrew says.

“Yeah.”

Andrew tilts his head slightly, gaze falling to the scars on Neil’s arms. After a beat, he reaches out, and runs a finger along the deepest one, the one that runs diagonally from the top of Neil’s hand almost halfway up to his elbow.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” He says eventually.

“You have your thing with touch, and-“

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Andrew says again, eyes narrowed.

Neil watches him for a moment, before saying, “Why?”

Andrew’s gaze flicks away for a moment, before sliding lazily back to Neil.

“What?” He asks, voice hard.

“Why? If I’m nothing, why did you do what you did?”

Andrew stays quiet, as if thinking it over.

“You’re quite stupid sometimes.”

“You’re avoiding the question.” Neil points out. Andrew gives him a dark look, and climbs out of Neil’s bed, crossing the short distance to his own bed. He isn’t stupid enough to ask Andrew to stay; the bed is too small for two people with so many issues to sleep soundly or comfortably. Neil knows that after this, their bed will be big enough to fit them and all their baggage.

Andrew stays quiet for so long Neil is convinced he’s going to stay that way. He isn’t asleep; Neil can hear him breathing normally. He assumes they’ve lapsed into silence, which happens, and is often comfortable rather than stiff.

Then, Andrew shifts, hands coming up to rest behind his head.

“You,” he says, “are everything.”

And those are the last words he speaks that night. But Neil doesn’t need anything else. He doubts he ever will.


End file.
